Stop The Presses!!

I will start this off by saying that the domestic help we have makes me slightly uncomfortable. Rather, talking about the help we have makes me squirm a bit. But the fact is that here in Mumbai, we are afforded the opportunity to have such help.

Last night, Shabina, our cook started. She will come in each afternoon - bringing groceries - and prepare dinner for us. She asked me yesterday what kinds of food I like. Normally, not such a tough question for me. But knowing that the answer included: I don't like curry, onions, very spicy food or fatty meats, and knowing that I was being asked this question in Mumbai, the home of curry, onions, and very spicy food (not so sure about the meats part) ... well I was a bit nervous to answer.

-I told her that I like my food only a little bit spicy. In the states, I fancied myself as some who likes spicy or at least medium-spicy food. However, I was keenly aware that she and I do not live on the same spiciness scale.

-I told Shabina that I like almost all vegetables; except onions and those I only like a little bit (stretching the truth a lot here, trying to be open to new experiences).

-And I told her that chicken was my favorite meat.

She took all of this in and asked to see our kitchen. I gave her the grand tour of our four cooking dishes, plentiful utensils, and bare pantry. She took all of this in as well. She thought for a moment, looked at the lack of food again and asked, "What do you want me to cook tonight?" I conceded that we had very little food and thought that part of the arrangement is that she would also to the shopping. She confirmed this and said she would go to the market.

"Do you like lady-fingers?" Shabina asked. Of course I had just told her that I liked almost all vegetables. It never occur ed to me that the first think she'd offer to make was OKRA, which I don't like. Again, I am trying very hard to be open to this new world I am in, so I said, "I think so." Sabina thought a moment more and said, "OK, I'll make non-smelly rice, lady fingers, dahl [lentils] and curry chicken. You like the curry, no, ma'am?"

She'd gotten me again. First the okra and then the curry. I'm not even going into my trepidation about lentils (weren't those stinky??) or my curiosity about what "non-smelly rice" was. But I said, "sounds good". I'm not sure if she wasn't sure what I said or if she was unsure about the look on my face. So I smiled big and said, very Mumba-like, No problem.

Shabina did the shopping and then spent about 90 minutes in the kitchen mixing and cooking and seasoning and chopping and mixing and sauteing. I tried to mostly stay out - not to be out of the way, but afraid that if I saw what she was doing, I'd be too scared to eat this strange food. When she was done, she proudly showed me her work - white rice (non-smelly, indeed), chopped an sauteed okra, dahl with seasoning-looking stuff in it, and sauteed, curry-sauced, chicken. She smiled hopefully at me and asked if it was OK. I smiled as confidently as I could and told her that it looked great.

I won't go into any details here, but suffice it for me to say that my stomach had been bothering me for about 48 hours. I'd essentially eaten nothing but 2-3 pieces of toast with butter and a small amount of plain pasta for two days. My first meal of real food was Shabina's meal. I was nervous for my taste buds and nervous for my stomach.

Diego called to say that he was going to be a work way past dinner time and that I should eat without him. I was disappointed that we wouldn't have this first meal together. But I was also a little relieved that I could react to this meal in private.

Feeling brave, and hungry (as 48 hours with almost no food will do to you), I dished up a plate of rice, okra and dahl (I wasn't feeling brave enough or hungry enough for the curry chicken). I took a deep breath. And then another. I picked up the plate and actually sniffed the food. I put my finger in the dahl and tasted a minuscule dot of it to test for spiciness (none). I bit one tiny slice of okra off of an already tiny piece to see what it tasted like (delicious). Next, I took a normal size bite of each dish on my plate. Good taste.

Eventually, I sort of swirled it all together and ate every last bite of it. The dinner was FANTASTIC. Flavorful, but also nicely textured. I emailed to Diego's phone - I ATE INDIAN FOOD. It was a big step for me. But the fact that I liked it was even better.

(And I had another dish of it for lunch today!)

(Author's Note: This post is done with special love for my brother Dodie, who, as long as I've been a picky eater -my whole life - has always come up with new ways to tease me about it.)